


Changing Rooms

by Wildrook



Series: Tender Mercies [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Pre-Slash, Shopping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildrook/pseuds/Wildrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles seeks relationship advice, Peter plots a shopping trip, and Lydia and Derek contemplate homicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since this has been sitting on my computer for far too long, I've decided to start posting it in the hopes that it motivates me to finally finish the dang thing. I apologize in advance for sporadic updates.

            “Uhn!” The grunt was forced from Stiles as he hit the forest floor – his landing kicking up dust and leaves that immediately threatened to attack his nose. A second whimper of sound escaped the teen as Peter’s weight swiftly followed to settle atop of him, making him _very_ aware of every root and rock digging into his back. Stiles glared at the werewolf who was half-kneeling straddled over him, half sitting on his hips – the asshole was _heavy_.

            “Really, Stiles?” Peter asked, his brows lowered as if the boy pinned beneath him was somehow disappointing him.

            Stiles wished that he could push the man off, or at least express his current feelings with an appropriate hand gesture, but he wasn’t allowed to act on either impulse. Peter had captured his wrists upon landing and had both of Stiles’ hands trapped above his head. The teenager had to be satisfied with a disgruntled noise and a squinting glare as he fought to regain his breath.

            The wolf’s eyes narrowed at the insolent response and he settled a little more of his weight onto Stiles in retaliation, causing the teen to hiss in discomfort – there was a really _big_ rock stabbing him in the small of his back.

            “That was sloppy, Stiles,” a stern voice broke in. Stiles turned his head to find Chris Argent leaning against a nearby tree, his arms crossed and his pale eyes hard.

            These particular training days were quickly becoming the bane of Stiles’ existence. Since the pack/hunter “peace accords”, Argent and Peter had come to their own unofficial understanding – each pretended that the other didn’t exist, and thus they resisted the urge to kill one another. The only time this unspoken rule was stretched was on the days that they decided to team up on Stiles’ training. The intensity of their animosity was inevitably refocused into the lesson, with the unfortunate result that _Stiles_ usually ended up completely battered and exhausted. Never mind that the combined knowledge of the hunter and werewolf was beyond amazing – Stiles was usually too busy aching to really appreciate it.

            “You’re supposed to be using your opponent’s strength against him, not letting him throw you around,” the hunter continued.

            “Letting him?” Stiles finally managed to gasp, outrage coloring his words. “He’s a fricking werewolf – he’s got a lot of strength! I think throwing me around is the most likely outcome of any fight between us.”

            Argent’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the whole point of the lesson, Stiles!” he barked. “The next creature you encounter might be even stronger than a werewolf. We’re trying to give you options to defend yourself when you’re cornered without weapons or backup – so start putting in a little effort!”

            Stiles looked away from Argent’s unyielding gaze, his nose wrinkling in annoyance at having to admit that the man had a good point.

            “I think Stiles is distracted,” Peter’s smooth voice immediately caused Stiles’ eyes to snap to the man, but when the teen found the wolf gazing down at him with a crooked smirk, he quickly looked away again.

            “Gee, I wonder why,” the teenager muttered under his breath, feeling heat rise on his cheeks.

            But of course the wolf could hear his words. Peter cocked his head to the side and his eyes sparkled as he watched the pinned boy. “Am I distracting, Stiles?” he questioned.

            “A psychopathic molester sitting on top of me? Distracting? Nah,” Stiles tried to answer as airily as possible, but he could already feel his heartbeat speeding up. He squirmed a bit in a hopeless effort to free himself.

            “You know, _distraction_ can also be an effective method of dealing with an opponent,” Peter told him matter-of-factly. The wolf’s grip tightened on Stiles’ captive wrists, causing the teen to still as Peter began to lift one of his arms away from the ground. “Maybe we should shift the focus of today’s training. Give you a … demonstration,” Peter’s lips curled evilly on the last word.

            “No, no that’s okay,” Stiles hurriedly said, trying to keep his voice from squeaking as he nervously watched Peter raise his arm. “I’m fine with you throwing me around,” he realized what he’d said and quickly tried to correct himself. “I mean-”

            “Pay attention, Stiles,” Peter ordered in a soft, liquid voice. Stiles’ mouth snapped shut and he could feel his eyes widening to epic proportions as the wolf slowly brought Stiles’ wrist to his mouth.

            Peter’s lips brushed lightly against his skin, before the man’s mouth suddenly opened wide and covered the inside of his wrist. Stiles briefly flashed back to that night in the parking garage when Peter had offered the bite. But there were no teeth involved in this motion – only the warm, wet pull of Peter’s mouth as he closed it over the teen’s skin, dragging his lips together until they met with a pop in something that was uncomfortably close to a kiss. Stiles found himself unable to do more than stare at the wolf in utter shock. Peter’s eyes flickered to meet the teen’s stupefied gaze, and for a moment the pale orbs flared electric-blue.

            An odd little noise escaped Stiles’ throat, startling the teen out of his daze. Suddenly he remembered where they were and what they had been in the midst of doing. The teen glanced quickly over at Argent, fully expecting the hunter to be storming toward them with a look of murder on his face. But Argent was still leaning against the tree, and the man rolled his eyes at Stiles when he met his gaze.

            “Let me know when you’re ready to get back to work,” he said irritably before turning and disappearing into the woods.

            Stiles stared after him. That was it? He was leaving Stiles alone with the creeper like _this_? That couldn’t be right, could it?

            “Stiles,” Peter murmured, close enough that Stiles immediately jerked his gaze back to the werewolf. The man was leaning over him, only an inch or two separating their faces. “You’re getting distracted,” he chided, his eyes dancing with humor. Then he closed the distance between them and _licked Stiles’ cheek_.

            That odd noise came from the teen’s throat again, only this time it sounded far too much like a moan. “You should _not_ be doing this,” Stiles gasped. His words felt insignificant and barely audible over his wildly pounding heart.

            Peter merely chuckled and moved his lips to Stiles’ jaw, teeth nipping and tongue swiping at the sensitive skin. Stiles shifted restlessly beneath the wolf’s weight, feeling his body heat up in response to the unexpected attention. Or maybe it was Peter’s body that was heating him – draped almost flush on top of him, hot and hard and unyielding as it pressed him to the ground. And that shouldn’t be a turn on – being trapped beneath the older man – but, God, it so definitely was.

            “O-oh, God,” Stiles stuttered out on another moan as Peter’s mouth skimmed down his neck and then up again. This was definitely wrong. He should be freaking out right now. He should be trying to throw the wolf off. He should be doing _something_ other than lying there and letting Peter molest him. Stiles whimpered and tilted his head so that Peter would have better access. And no, that was _not_ the something he should be doing, he scolded himself. The reprimand didn’t seem to convince his body though as the heat he felt suddenly focused on his groin.

            “Stiles, wake up,” Peter murmured against his ear.

            “Hmm?” The teenager groaned as the wolf’s teeth tugged at his earlobe.

            “Stiles! Wake up!”

            “Wah-what?” Stiles sat up quickly, flailing in alarm at the shout. For a moment he was confused by the fabric wrapping around him and the bright light shining in his eyes. It wasn’t until he almost tumbled from the bed that he finally began to process his situation. His observations came in roughly this order: 1) he was in his own room, 2) there was morning light streaming in his window, 3) he’d just had an incredibly wacked out dream, and 4) his dad was standing in his doorway, looking at him like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of his weirdo son.

            “Hey there, Dad,” Stiles offered weakly, squinting against his grogginess and the bright morning light.

            The Sheriff opened his mouth as if he wanted to ask a question, then closed it, shook his head, and instead said, “You know what? I don’t want to know.” Stiles was abruptly hit with the terrifying prospect of just what he might have done or said in his sleep in the midst of a dream like _that_ while his _dad_ was watching. “You’re going to be late for school if you don’t get up _now_ , Stiles.” Still shaking his head, his dad turned and walked out of Stiles’ room.

            The teen flopped back against his pillow with a sigh, his eyes closing. A second later they blinked open. Stiles lifted the edge of his sheet and looked down before letting out a dismayed huff of annoyance. Oh, he was definitely going to be late for school. And he was going to need a cold shower.


	2. Chapter 2

            It was official; Stiles had a problem and that problem’s name was Peter-fucking-Hale. Seriously, the creeper was _ruining his life_!

            Restlessly the teenager bounced a pencil between two fingers, oblivious to the glares he earned from his teacher as its point tapped a rhythmic beat against his desk. His leg jumped nervously to the same tempo, his sneaker adding a muffled shuffle to the tap. He stared at the clock above the blackboard, wondering how he could possibly survive another school day when the minutes insisted on crawling by at such a snail’s pace.

            From the desk beside him, Scott glanced over, clearly worried by Stiles’ unrest. “Dude,” his friend finally whispered. “Adderall?”

            Stiles shook his head, and offered a smile, as if to say, “no, everything was fine, he wasn’t going out of his mind at all”, but of course that was a total lie. He leaned over his desk, turning slightly from Scott, as though that might somehow hide his agitation, and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. His fingers curved over his scalp and slid down the back of his skull and onto his neck. Stiles grimaced as he brushed against the still-tender claw marks along his spine.

            It had been a week and a half since Halloween – a week and a half of pure torture. This morning’s soft porn makeover of the training session was only the latest in a string of similar dreams that had left him in need of fresh boxers and cold showers – all of which involved the damned creeperwolf. And it wasn’t just his dreams that Peter was haunting – Stiles found the man invading his thoughts at every inappropriate moment possible and the teen was nearing his wit’s end. How was he supposed to function like this?!

            He blamed Peter entirely of course. The man had completely destroyed what should have been the most awesome Halloween of Stiles’ life. Oh sure, it wasn’t like the werewolf had planned the whole poltergeist thing. At least, Stiles didn’t think he had – even the creeper wasn’t that skilled at plotting… he hoped. Even with the horror movie adventure, Stiles could have dealt with the mind fuckery of that entire asylum experience. He even thought he could have eventually processed the whole claws-in-his-neck-Peter-in-his-head thing (though it was definitely adding fuel to his current preoccupation). But the real problem had come after the asylum, at Lydia’s party.

            He’d felt the wolf watching him the entire night, and had done his best to avoid meeting the man’s gaze. “Smoldering” and “hungry” didn’t even begin to describe the expression in those pale eyes. They’d unsettled him. And more than that – with the _taste_ of Peter fresh in his mind – they’d stirred emotions in Stiles that the teenager really didn’t want to put a name to. Funny that even though they were no longer connected, Stiles had still felt like an exposed, raw nerve beneath that gaze. Why the hell had he wanted Peter to tag along to the party again?

            Needless to say, this constant disquieting scrutiny had put a bit of a damper on Stiles’ partying. But he’d persevered. He’d eaten candy. He’d danced with his friends. He’d enjoyed the many imaginative costumes, most of which happily left little to the imagination. He’d eaten more candy. And he’d sought the occasional refuge from his watcher in any quiet place he could find. Which was why Heather had found him alone in an empty back room.

            Ah, Heather, the child hood friend who he’d once played with in nursery school. Now near grown and a beautiful student at the rival high school across town – looking even more beautiful that night in the naughty angel costume that she’d worn for the party. He hadn’t seen much of her in the last few years, certainly hadn’t realized that she was long past the gawky-teenager stage, but seeing her now he wasn’t surprised to find her at Lydia’s party. Almost anybody in Beacon Hills who was considered cool ended up at one, and Heather looked to be well on her way to cool.

            They’d chatted earlier in the evening, catching up on their families. Now they’d again traded small talk, the conversation light and easy. Stiles had been so relieved to have a perfectly normal, non-supernatural interaction with another human being that he hadn’t really noticed how Heather was drawing closer, until suddenly she’d been only a few inches away from him.

            While he’d blinked stupidly down at her, she’d invited him to her upcoming birthday party, a strange, shy, teasing smile on her lips. She’d be seventeen, she’d said, and did he know what she wanted for her birthday? To not be a seventeen-year-old-virgin. Stiles’ eyes had widened. Holy crap, was she actually suggesting what he thought she was suggesting?! While his brain had done a shocked happy dance, Heather had stepped right up to him, tugged him down by the collar, and kissed him. Stiles’ brain had momentarily short circuited. For the first time in his seventeen years of life he was getting a real kiss. And he was being offered sex! Yep, Halloween was _definitely_ his favorite holiday.

            The kiss had been good, a bit sloppy and rough because neither of them was particularly practiced at the art, but enough to spark fireworks in Stiles’ head. Then, halfway thru, it had all gone to hell. And it was all Peter’s fault.

            One second the teen had been focused on the beautiful girl whose feathered halo was in danger of poking his eyes out, but more importantly, whose soft lips and body were pressed against him. The next, Stiles’ mind had sent an image of flashing blue eyes and the memory of strong arms wrapped around him, and he’d found himself wondering what it would be like if _Peter_ was the one kissing him. The thought had come so suddenly and so sharply that Stiles had jerked back, panicked by the bizarreness and intensity of it. Almost immediately he’d realized that he’d made a mistake as Heather’s face had darkened in confusion and hurt. He’d babbled out some excuse that didn’t even make sense to _him_ and fled before he could embarrass himself any further.

            What the hell had happened? _Why_ had he thought about Peter in the midst of one of the greatest moments of his life? It _had_ to be the werewolf’s fault. First he’d poked around in Stiles head, then he’d stalked him all night, so of course Stiles would have him on his mind. God damn Peter Hale! Feeling morose at the pathetic turn the evening had taken and extremely disturbed by his own reaction, Stiles had commandeered a bowl of candy and retreated to the deserted kitchen.

            The _candy_ had been an awesome idea – he’d actually been looking for an excuse to gorge all night. The deserted kitchen … not so much.

            Because, of course, that was where Peter had ultimately cornered him and _licked_ him. Peter. Had. _Licked_. Him.

            Stiles let his head drop to his desk with a thump, earning another glare from his teacher and a concerned glance from Scott, both of which went unnoticed by the teen-in-crisis.

            Oh god. Peter had licked him. And Stiles was pretty sure he had _liked_ it. Well, not the aftermath so much; Peter’s spit on his cheek was kind of slimy and gross. But the actual act – the nearness of the wolf, the heat of the man’s mouth on his skin – had been incredibly sexy. Which was just wrong. So wrong. Incredibly wrong. There were so many reasons why it was wrong.

            And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it – and he couldn’t stop thinking about the werewolf. And they weren’t bad thoughts. Well, they were bad, but in a … pleasant way. Yep, Stiles had gone crazy. That was the only explanation for his current preoccupation. He’d now moved beyond attraction, beyond crush, and straight into thoughts that were downright terrifying. Seriously, he was having wet dreams about the man – how much worse could it get?!

            Stiles had hoped it was only a temporary bout of insanity; that maybe if he stayed away from Peter for a while, all of the weird thoughts from that night would settle down. But avoiding the man hadn’t helped at all. Stiles had gone out of his way to steer clear of any potential encounters with Peter, even ducking out of a few pack gatherings just in case the elder Hale might be there. So far his efforts had proved fruitless. It was as if avoiding Peter just made him think about the man _more_. Not to mention that the longer he put off seeing Peter, the more nervous he felt at the prospect. What was he going to _do_ when he saw the werewolf again? What was Peter going to do? Lick him again? Do something even worse? A shiver threatened to travel up his spine, but Stiles firmly squelched the impulse. This was getting ridiculous – he was acting like an idiot. He was actually _hiding_ from the older man because he was afraid of what would happen if they were alone together, but at the same time he couldn’t stop _thinking_ about the man and imagining all the possibilities. His confusion really was making it difficult to function – it was affecting his attention in school and at home, and he was pretty sure his dad and friends were beginning to notice his distraction.

            And that was definitely the worst part of the whole confusing issue – he couldn’t talk it over with any of the people he would normally turn to. Scott would flip – maybe even pushed so far as to wolf out in anger. Lydia would raise one of her perfectly arched eyebrows, and then go nuclear on him – a terrifying prospect. His dad didn’t even know half of the important factors, like “werewolves are real”, and even if _that_ wasn’t an issue, then he’d still be more likely to arrest or _shoot_ Peter than give Stiles any useful advice on his little dilemma. One by one, Stiles could discount all of his friends for similar reasons. No, they absolutely could not be allowed to find out about his growing problem.

            The bell rang, jerking Stiles from his thoughts. Great, another class completely missed because his brain had been too full of creeper werewolves!

            “Are you alright?” Scott questioned as they gathered up their books and shuffled behind the press of fleeing teenagers at the classroom door.

            “Oh, yeah, peachy.” Stiles hurriedly scrambled for a reasonable explanation for his spaziness. “Just, you know, worried about that history paper,” he finally spat out, catching sight of the assignment written on the board.

            “We’ve still got another week to work on it,” Scott said, giving his friend a look like he thought the other teen was missing a few marbles. Scott knew perfectly well that Stiles usually waited until the night before the due date to write any papers and still somehow ended up with mostly As.

            Stiles’ nose scrunched as he tried to shrug off the anomaly. “Oh, you know. I thought I’d try something new,” he said airily.

            “Uh huh,” Scott’s expression was skeptical. Before he could probe further, they made it out into the hall and Allison appeared a few feet ahead, effectively distracting Scott. Stiles had never been so glad for his friend’s puppy love. Not that it made him feel any better about his own problem. Stiles sighed as Scott floated dreamily over to Allison. If only he had a simple romantic conundrum like a werewolf in love with a hunter, but nooo, _he_ had to crush on a psychopath. And it wasn’t as if he could even spill his romantic woes to a sympathetic ear like a normal teenager. How was this his life?

            Stiles was so busy watching his happy friends and mentally bemoaning his own plight that he walked his face right into someone’s backpack. “Sorry,” he quickly muttered, momentarily clutching at his victim in an effort to remain upright. A hand grabbed his arm to help steady him and then Stiles found himself blinking stupidly at Danny’s good-natured smile.

            “No problem,” the other teen told him, releasing his hold when he was sure Stiles wouldn’t topple over, and then continuing on down the hall.

            Stiles stared after Danny for several long seconds, the cogs in his mind slowly turning as an idea took shape. The slightest of smiles began to curl his lips. Finally, there was a light in the thick fog of Stiles’ confusion. Now all he had to do was make it through the day.

 

***

            Stiles sat on a bench in the locker room after lacrosse practice, half-heartedly shoving his gear into his bag as he waited to make his move. All around him his teammates were getting dressed and slamming lockers. Stiles was getting impatient – if everyone else didn’t leave soon, he was going to miss his chance!

            Scott turned from his locker and frowned when he saw Stiles’ sluggish movements. “You coming over?” his friend asked.

            “Nah,” Stiles replied as casually as possible. “I was thinking of heading over to the library. Maybe pick up some books for that history paper.” He cringed internally – what a lame excuse. Yet another indication of how messed up his head was!

            Scott was amused, clearly not buying a word. “Fine, but when you’re finished with this ‘paper’,” he made air quotes and Stiles rolled his eyes, “I expect to hear all about it.” An idea seemed to suddenly occur to Scott, and a gleeful smile lit his face. “Or maybe it’s not an ‘it’, maybe it’s a ‘her’?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Stiles.

            “Dude! I am _not_ crushing on a girl!” Stiles tried to fill his voice with as much outrage as possible while simultaneously freaking out on the inside. His friend had apparently read him a little better than he’d realized and had come scarily close to the truth with his teasing. “I have purely academic motives!” he insisted desperately.

            “Uh huh,” Scott answered, _definitely_ not believing him. “Call me if you want to meet up later. Isaac,” he called over his shoulder, “you coming?”

            “Yeah,” the other wolf replied as he started pulling on his shoes. “I’ll be done in a few seconds.”

            Scott nodded. “Meet you by my bike.” He offered Stiles a little wave and headed out the door.

            Isaac waited a moment, his head cocked as he listened to Scott’s fading steps. When he was sure the other werewolf was far enough away, he turned a disgruntled look on Stiles. “You’re gonna make me ride on the motorcycle?”

            Usually Stiles would drive them both to Scott’s house after school, but today Isaac would have to catch a ride with Scott – an ordeal that none of the pack really looked forward to. To be fair, Scott was an excellent driver, always conscious of his surroundings and able to maneuver with amazing skill. But, whether because of his wolf abilities or his love of riding the bike, he also had a tendency to push limits, particularly if he had someone to show off to. One ride behind Scott on the bike and Stiles had vowed to never ditch his Jeep again. Apparently even werewolves found the experience sort of terrifying.

            Stiles offered a completely unsympathetic smile. “Good luck,” he told the other teen. “I’ll mourn you if you don’t make it.”

            Isaac glared, shouldered his bag and stalked from the locker room, muttering, “If I die, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

            Stiles grinned as he watched the wolf disappear through the door, but as soon as Isaac was gone, the smile dropped away, replaced by an anxious frown. The teen hurriedly looked around the locker room and was relieved to see that only a few of his teammates remained. Even better, none of them were pack. Thankfully though, one was Danny – just the guy he was waiting for. And also the guy who was about to walk out the door if Stiles didn’t stop him!

            Stiles scrambled to his feet, rushing to intercept the other teen. “Hey, Danny!” he called out, resisting the urge to latch onto Danny’s arm in his desperation. “Do you have a minute to talk? Privately,” he added, glaring at Greenberg, the only other person now in the locker room, until the other teen shrugged and left.

            Danny gave Stiles a guarded look. “You’re not going to ask me to hack into something again, are you? Cause I’m not doing it – even if you parade a completely naked Derek Hale in front of me.” He paused for a moment, thinking the statement over. “Well, maybe for that,” he admitted.

            Stiles blinked, momentarily thrown off by the image, then hurriedly shook his head to clear it away. One Hale haunting his thoughts was more than enough. “No, nothing like that. I’m already teaching myself how to hack,” he answered distractedly. His mind was now attempting to imagine what a naked _Peter_ Hale might look like, and it was sapping his ability to hold a conversation. Sadly, he didn’t have enough source material to build a truly accurate picture, but that didn’t stop his mind from enjoying the attempt. As if he didn’t already have enough dirty thoughts filling his head.

            “Stiles?”

            Danny’s voice snapped Stiles from his contemplation. The other teen was giving him a quizzical look, probably debating whether Stiles had suddenly gone brain dead or if the drooling was just a congenital condition.

            “So, what did you want to talk about then?” Danny prodded.

            Time to take the plunge. “Well, I sort of need some … relationship advice. And I can’t talk to anyone I’d normally talk to, so I thought I’d talk to you.” Stiles spoke quickly, his words tripping over one another. When he paused for a breath, his mind finally caught up with his mouth and he sighed as he played his hurried words over in his head. This conversation was off to a great start if he couldn’t even _speak_. “And okay, that came out totally wrong,” he amended weakly.

            “Gee, thanks.” Danny quirked a smile, thankfully looking more amused than insulted by Stiles’ babbling. “You do realize that the only relationship advice I can give is about guys, right?”

            Stiles shifted nervously and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s one of the reason I wanted to talk to _you_.” Damn it! He had hoped to make it through this without looking like a complete dork, but he could already feel a blush spreading across his cheeks.

            For a moment Danny looked surprised by the admission, but his expression quickly turned appraising. “Okay,” he finally drawled, moving back toward one of the benches and sliding his bag from his shoulder. “So, Lydia?” he asked as he settled onto the bench.

            Stiles sighed and sat down opposite him. “Lydia is gorgeous, and in an established long-term relationship, and is apparently not the only person I will ever be attracted to.” Stiles’ nervousness was definitely getting the better of him, because he found he couldn’t stop talking. “Not that I wasn’t attracted before. Or now. I mean there’s a lot out there to be attracted to. I appreciate attractive people of all kinds. Hell, everybody I know seems to be weirdly attractive. And yeah, I’ve noticed, and appreciated. I mean, take you for instance. You’re very attractive. I appreciate that. I’d have to be blind not to. But I’m not swooning over you or anything, you know?” Danny’s quiet smile was growing broader by the minute, though he kindly refrained from laughing in Stiles’ face as the word vomit flowed on. Argh! Enough already. Stiles forced himself to come back to the point. “It’s just … there are levels, right? And Lydia was my top level.” Danny nodded in understanding, his smile softening. “And now, I seem to be on my way to another Lydia-level attraction. I think. Maybe. I’m definitely on my way to something.” He sighed again. “This is why I need to talk to someone, okay?”

            Danny gave him a bemused look. “I see. I think. I’m assuming there are complications or you’d be having this conversation with McCall?”

            Complications? Hah! Just the werewolf part. And the age difference. And, oh yeah, the psychotic killer thing. “You could say that,” Stiles told him mildly. “I just need to talk to someone with a bit of … distance from the situation.”

            The other teen gave him a half-shrug, apparently game. “Alright, I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’m listening.”

            “Thanks, man,” Stiles told him sincerely. Almost immediately though, he felt his anxiety double. He’d been relieved at the thought of finally sharing this problem with another person, but now that he had the chance, the teen was still finding the subject difficult to broach. Where did he even begin? It wasn’t like he could just blurt out, “Hey, so I’m having naughty dreams about an older, killer werewolf. What are your thoughts?” Finally, Stiles decided that it was probably best to start with the most normal part of the situation. “So, have you ever dated an older guy?” he asked hesitantly.

            Danny’s brows rose. Stiles squirmed a little under the contemplative gaze Danny swept over him again. He was probably completely ruining Danny’s mental image of him and he wasn’t really sure if that was a good thing or a bad. “I went out a couple times with a college guy I met at Jungle,” Danny finally answered. “Is that what you mean?”

            Stiles grimaced. “Eh. How’d that go for you?”

            Danny shrugged. “Didn’t really go anywhere. I was still pretty new to dating, and he wanted someone he could go all the way with. Once we realized we were looking for different things, it ended pretty quickly.”

            Okay, so they were going to be candid. Stiles was an (almost) grown-up, he could deal with this conversation without blushing like an idiot. Never mind that he could feel the heat creeping across his cheeks and down his neck.

            Danny seemed amused by his obvious discomfort. “So the guy we’re discussing is older than you?” he gently prompted.

            “Yeah. Yep.” Danny nodded, clearly waiting for more information and Stiles grimaced. “Like, highly-illegal-but-still-incredibly-hot older than me,” he expanded tentatively.

            Danny leaned back against the lockers, his expression evaluating, but to Stiles’ relief, not judging. “Ah. Then you _are_ aware of the … legal ramifications a relationship like that could entail?”

            Stiles snorted. “Please. My dad’s the sheriff, remember?” As if his own words suddenly reminded him of that very fact, he felt his stomach clench. He dropped his gaze to his lap, where his hands were twisting together nervously. “And that’s not even my biggest problem,” he muttered, thinking of all the _really big problems_ that any sort of relationship with Peter Hale presented. God, the fact that he was even thinking the phrase “relationship with Peter Hale” was a huge problem. After a few moments of silence, Stiles glanced up to find Danny watching him expectantly, waiting for an explanation of his last statement. Stiles sighed and finally came up with, “The guy’s kind of … an asshole. A hot, intelligent, older asshole, who I really shouldn’t have anything to do with, but I’m kind of having trouble getting out of my head.” It was a major understatement, but it was the best he could do without completely giving everything away.

            Danny’s expression turned thoughtful. “And this hot, intelligent, older asshole, has he expressed an interest in you?” his tone sounded slightly skeptical.

            Well, didn’t _that_ just play right into all of Stiles’ insecurities? “I know,” he answered glumly. “Crazy, right? Why would someone like that be interested in _me_?”

            Danny’s gaze sharpened. “Not what I meant,” he said seriously. “It’s more _his_ motives, not _your_ appeal, that I’m worried about.”

            “Oh,” Stiles replied softy. Danny really was awesome. “Well then, to answer your question, yes, he has expressed an interest. I think. I mean, there’s _definitely_ interest – what with the subtle innuendo, the outright propositioning, the licking…”

            “Licking?” Danny’s brows rose.

            Stiles shifted in embarrassment. _Why_ had he mentioned the licking? He tried to explain. “Yeah, there was chocolate on my cheek, and … you know what? Forget the licking.” He waved his hands sharply, trying to clear the mortifying admission from the air. “Point is, despite all that I’m still not really sure if he’s _actually_ interested or if he’s just screwing with me.” Another possibility presented itself. “Or if he is interested and still screwing with me.” And another. “Or if he’s just interested in screwing me. Or if I’m interested in him screwing me. Or … what the hell am I even saying?” He buried his head in his hands, his brain feeling like it was overheating.

            Danny made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, but when Stiles glanced up the other teen’s face was dead serious. “You understand that I can’t tell you want to do, right?” Danny asked in an even tone. “I don’t know what his motives are or what’s going to happen if you get involved. I can only speak from my own experience.”

            Stiles sighed. “That’s all I’m asking, dude. Because, you know, I don’t _have_ any experience. Like, at all.” If it had been anyone else, he would have felt even more embarrassed to admit that, but with Danny it somehow felt safe – the dude seriously didn’t seem to be judging him. “And believe me when I say that I literally can’t talk to anyone else about this, so I feel like my head is about to explode. Anything you can give me will help.”

            Danny nodded, accepting his reasoning. “So, attraction is great and it can … feel really good,” he gave Stiles a soft, conspiratorial smile that made the teen think Danny might have experienced a few dreams in his dating life like the ones that had been plaguing Stiles. “But it can also be really confusing,” Danny went on, his expression turning solemn. “And if you’re feeling confused, then you need to take the time and think before you go any further.”

            He paused, clearly choosing his words carefully before he finally continued. “This might just be my opinion, Stiles, but I believe a relationship needs to be equal to work. I’m not talking about age. I mean, that can be a factor, but it doesn’t need to be. I’m talking about …power, I guess is the word. If a relationship isn’t equal…if one person has more control, more power, over the other, then it’s not going to work. It’s just not healthy. Someone will eventually get hurt.” Danny seemed reluctant to finish, but when Stiles nodded encouragingly he added, “And from your description, it sounds like right now most of the power is with _him_.”

            Stiles let out a long, slow breath. That was actually a really good point. Peter _did_ have most of the power in this situation. _He_ knew what his own motivations were. Hell, he probably knew what Stiles’ motivations were – they weren’t hard to figure out, he was a seventeen year old horny virgin after all. Meanwhile, Stiles had absolutely no idea why any of this was happening. Of course this revelation didn’t change the fact that a large part of Stiles just didn’t care why it was happening – and therein lay his dilemma.

            “If I can ask…?” Danny’s voice once more pulled Stiles from his thoughts. “This guy? He wouldn’t happen to be the one you brought to Lydia’s party on Halloween, would he?”

            Stiles felt his stomach twist. “You are unfortunately perceptive.” His voice cracked on the words, and he knew his eyes had gone wide with panic.

            Danny held up his hands in a soothing gesture. “Hey, I still don’t know who the guy is, and I don’t plan on sharing with anyone unless I see you suddenly turn into one of those late night crime specials. Speaking of…” he shot Stiles a curious look. “I think I see some of your problem. The guy was _definitely_ hot, but there was something … off. Something about his eyes. They were…” he seemed to be searching for the right descriptor.

            “Serial killer eyes?” Stiles offered.

            “I was going to say intense, but yeah…” Danny’s brows lowered in disquiet. “An oddly apt description.”

            “You have no idea,” Stiles muttered, staring at his twisting hands once more.

            Danny gazed at him in quiet concern for a few moments before he finally spoke again. “Stiles, it seems like you might already know where all this is heading, but you’re afraid of what the consequences might be. So … maybe you’ve just got to decide – can you live with those consequences, whatever the outcome, good or bad? Will you be able to live with yourself?”

            Stiles frowned, his gaze lowered and unfocused. Live with himself? Hah! The real question was whether he would survive at all?

            After several quiet minutes ticked by, Danny finally broke the contemplative atmosphere. “I wish I could give you something more,” he offered regretfully. “I don’t think I’m going to be much help after all.”

            Stiles shook himself from his dark thoughts. “Nah, thanks dude. Just talking it through with someone is definitely a big help.” The conversation had given him even more to think about, but at least it had sharpened his focus on some key points. Suddenly wanting to be on his own so that he could examine this new perspective, Stiles grabbed his bag and rose from the bench,

            Danny stood as well, and reached for his own bag. “Well, if you want to talk ‘relationships’ again, just ask. It _was_ kind of fun.” He flashed Stiles a light smile.

            Good to know his romantic woes were enjoyable. But Stiles could actually see where Danny was coming from. It had been nice to have a grown up conversation on the subject without having to listen to Scott wax poetic about Allison or his dad get awkward as he tried to talk about birds and bees. Stiles returned the smile and rummaged in his locker for the last of his almost-forgotten gear. “What, you don’t talk about this stuff with Jackson?” he teasingly questioned.

            Danny chuckled and headed for the door. “Some,” he said over his shoulder, “but his eyes start to glaze over when I go on too long about the guys I date. And I kind of do the same when he talks about Lydia.” He shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. At the door he paused and his smile turned a bit serious. “Let me know how it goes. And be careful. You sure do know how to pick ‘em, Stilinski.” He gave a slight wave and then disappeared through the door.

            Stiles stilled in mid-motion, thinking the words over. Yeah, he knew how to pick ‘em alright. Now if only he had any actual say in _who_ he picked – considering his track record of crushes, it would have saved him a great deal of angst over the years. Stiles sighed, slammed his locker shut, and slung his bag onto his shoulder.

            He was lost in thought as he pushed through the locker room door, so when something grabbed him by the collar and yanked him sideways the teen was taken completely off guard.

            “Wha-what?” he yelped, flailing as he struggled to keep his balance. He fell against a solid form and turned his head to find Peter’s cool eyes only inches from his own. “Peter! What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles pushed himself away from the man. His heart, already pounding from surprise, now flew into overdrive with panic at the wolf’s sudden appearance and closeness.

            Unfortunately, Peter didn’t release his hold on Stiles’ collar, preventing him from retreating. He also didn’t answer the teen’s question as he began pulling Stiles down the hallway. Stiles stumbled as he tried to keep up with the man’s pace and the awkward position he was in.

            “What the… What are you doing?” Stiles spluttered, unnerved by the werewolf’s silence.

            Peter paused and shot a swift glance at the teenager. Stiles shivered slightly beneath the unreadable expression in the man’s eyes and the ghost of a smile that crossed his lips.

            “Kidnapping you,” Peter answered simply before tightening his grip and tugging Stiles forward again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* Well that took longer than I'd hoped. On the plus side, I miscounted, and there will only be 5 chapters in this story, not 6.

            Stiles’ mind immediately came up with a million terrible and wonderful scenarios at Peter’s words, making the teen’s eyes widen, his breath catch in his throat, and his heart stutter. “W-what?” His voice even squeaked, damn it!

            Peter stopped abruptly, gave a long-suffering sigh, and turned back to fix a thoroughly exasperated look on the teen. His grimace clearly expressed the opinion that Stiles was an idiot.

            Instantly Stiles _felt_ like an idiot. Snark. Right. He, of all people, should totally recognize that in the man by now. Just because Peter’s presence was completely freaking him out was no excuse. “Oh. Yeah. Ha ha,” he mumbled, nervously running a hand through his hair and trying to avoid the cool gaze boring into him. Peter rolled his eyes, shifted his grip to the teen’s arm, and pulled him forward again.

            Stiles spent several seconds and a dozen more steps desperately scanning the deserted hallway for some hope of rescue before he realized that he still hadn’t actually gotten an answer to his question. _Why_ was Peter here, ambushing him after lacrosse practice? After all, if Stiles was about to be whisked away by the creeperwolf, never to be heard from again, he thought he at least deserved to know why. But if Peter’s inscrutable expression was anything to go by, the werewolf wasn’t about to volunteer the information. The teen pursed his lips. He might let Peter push him around in certain … fantasies, but he sure as heck wasn’t going to let himself be dragged off in real life without at least a little kicking and screaming.

            Or in this case, dragging and snarking.

            The teenager suddenly stopped dead and leaned away from Peter. He allowed his body to become dead weight, acting as a counterbalance to Peter’s forward motion. The abrupt shift momentarily brought the man to a halt, although from the look he shot at Stiles, the teen estimated that he only had a few seconds before the werewolf bodily picked him up and carried him off like a sack of potatoes. Since Stiles didn’t particularly feel like imitating a root vegetable, he spoke quickly.

            “Seriously, should I be shouting stranger danger or something?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light as he attempted to twist free of the wolf’s grip. He could hear his pulse pounding loudly in his ears and wished that his nervousness wasn’t so obvious. This was _so_ not the way he had wanted his next meeting with the older man to happen. In fact, Stiles had irrationally hoped that he could avoid seeing Peter again altogether. At least, that’s what he told himself when he _wasn’t_ having inappropriate dreams about how such a meeting might happen.

            “I’m not a stranger,” Peter answered mildly, tightening his grip just the slightest bit to indicate that no, he definitely was _not_ releasing Stiles any time soon.

            “No, but you are strange,” the teen pointed out as he gave up on the twisting method and leaned back again to see if gradual pressure would allow him to slip free. Peter gave him a _look_ and casually pulled him a step closer. The slightest prick of claws against his wrist warned Stiles to stop his escape attempts. “And you’re definitely dangerous,” Stiles added, licking his lips uneasily. This earned him a wolfish grin, but no other response. “ _Where_ are you taking me?” the teen finally asked in exasperation.

            “The mall.”

            “The _mall_?” Stiles was pretty sure that he really had gone off the deep end now, because he couldn’t possibly have heard that right.

            Peter’s eyes were dancing. “I owe you a new shirt.”

            Stiles blinked, trying to process that statement. Then it finally clicked – his joking words after Peter had sunk his claws into his shoulders. “You mean from Halloween? You get that was a joke right?” he asked incredulously.

            Peter shrugged, and the bastard’s lips were twitching. This little stunt was nearly giving Stiles a heart attack, and the man thought it was funny! “Maybe I’m just tired of my eyes bleeding every time I look at you and I’ve decided a new wardrobe is in order,” he answered sweetly.

            “What’s wrong with my clothes?” Stiles momentarily forgot his anxiety in his indignation.

            The werewolf gave him a long, slow once over. Then he met Stiles’ eyes and raised an imperious brow in judgment. Stiles glanced down at the well-worn sweatpants and fraying t-shirt covered in mud and grass stains that were his usual post-practice attire, and felt his face heat up. The wolf might have a point at the moment. But he’d be damned if he’d admit it.

            Fixing a glare on the older man, Stiles had just opened his mouth to retaliate when a door banged down the hall. Stiles’ turned a suddenly hopeful gaze in time to see Finstock emerge into the hallway, his head bent over a clipboard.

            “Coach!” the teen called out in relief. Whatever the heck this little abduction was about, surely Peter wouldn’t risk causing a scene in front of witnesses. Not if he was really still interested in staying on the pack’s good side.

            “Showing your friend around, Bilinski?” Finstock asked without raising his head.

            “No! He’s a psychotic killer in the process of abducting me for nefarious purposes!” Stiles could feel Peter shift beside him, but he didn’t dare look over to see the wolf’s expression.

            “That’s nice, Bilinski. Have fun.” The teacher pulled open the locker room door, and disappeared without once glancing up from his clipboard. Stiles stared incredulously as the door slammed shut behind the man.

            “Seriously?” the teen indignantly asked the universe at large.

            Peter wore a contemplative expression as he gazed after the departed coach. Then he shrugged and jerked Stiles forward again. “I like him,” he said simply.

            They saw no one else as they traveled through the school and Stiles was reluctantly forced to give up any hope of rescue. Instead his mind frantically searched for something that might delay their inevitable departure from school grounds.

            “Well,” he finally came up with as they walked out into the parking lot, “while we’re discussing things you owe me, you can also add new car battery to the list. Don’t think I’ve forgotten you ripping _that_ out of my poor Jeep. Oh, and new keys too. Remember that little stunt?” He was babbling and he knew it. Even worse he was bringing up memories of some of his worst experiences with Peter, which _so_ wasn’t helping him calm down any. But words were always his go-to defense, and he desperately hurled them at the man, hoping something would stick. “No, you know what? You’re just not allowed near my Jeep anymore. So, I’m not driving us to the mall,” he finished triumphantly. See, his prattling had actually led to a useful conclusion!

            Peter didn’t bat an eye. “Fine with me, I’ll drive.” Stiles thought the world must be ending, because he couldn’t possibly have heard Peter _volunteer_ to drive. He hadn’t really been sure the man owned a car, since he usually insisted Stiles act as chauffer during any of their outings. Picking up on the teen’s surprise, Peter shot him a smirk and shrugged, “It’s the mall, not a den of fiends, Stiles. I have no problem driving there. Get in.” They had reached a sleek black sports car that looked mouthwateringly new and expensive. Peter smoothly swept the door open and gestured grandly for Stiles to enter.

            The teen swallowed hard. “See, this is totally stranger danger. Now you’re enticing me into your car. I’m never going to be heard from again, am I?” Stiles was trying to cover his resurging unease with jokes. Unfortunately, they were pretty bad jokes.

            Peter huffed out an annoyed sigh and tugged Stiles closer. “Just get in the car, Stiles.”

            Recognizing that he wasn’t actually getting a say in the matter, Stiles reluctantly conceded. “Okay, but I’m only doing this because I find you physically intimidating,” he muttered as he slid into the seat.

            Peter’s smile was lazy and dark as he replied, “Works for me,” before closing the door on the teen.

 

****

 

            It wasn’t far to the mall, but the drive felt endless. Stiles spent the majority of the time in silence, slouched down in his seat. He stared out the window, studiously avoiding acknowledging the werewolf sitting beside him as his leg jumped to the same nervous rhythm it had tapped out earlier in class. Okay, he was alone with Peter. He could deal with this. It wasn’t like _Peter_ was acting any differently toward him. So, it just meant that he’d have to work out his own intentions toward the wolf a bit sooner than he’d hoped. And oh my god, “ _intentions_ ”? Was he in a Jane Austen novel now? Stiles lightly banged his head against the window glass.

            “You seem distracted.” Peter’s sudden words hit Stiles like a bucket of cold water, making him sit up abruptly and flail around toward the older man.

            “W-what?!” he spluttered in panic. “No! Nope! Not distracted! Don’t need to be distracted!” Memories of dream-Peter straddled atop him and mouthing at his neck shot a surge of combined terror and desire through the teen.

            When Peter slanted a curious glance at the teenager, no doubt picking up on the strange mix of emotions in his scent and heartbeat, Stiles mentally slapped himself and tried to force himself to calm down. Peter didn’t know about that morning’s dream, but he would quickly find out if Stiles didn’t _get a hold of himself_.

            “Really?” Peter asked mildly. “Because you seem sort of nervous.” Understatement of the century.

            “Gee, I wonder why?” Stiles muttered, then shivered as his words again reminded him of the dream. Peter gave him a questioning look and Stiles sighed, deciding that it would probably be best for his sanity if he just got straight to the root of their problem. After all, Peter had to realize that Halloween had changed things. “The last time we were alone, you licked me,” he reminded the wolf bluntly.

            “Ah.” Peter pursed his lips as if finally understanding the issue, then shrugged. “It happens,” he replied dismissively.

            Stiles blinked. That was it? He was having a crisis, and Peter just shrugged the whole thing off? “No it doesn’t!” he said in outrage, leaning toward the man.

            “You’re not going to the right parties,” the wolf told him. He paused then added casually, “You didn’t like it?”

            “No.” Stiles sat back in his seat, grumpily crossing his arms in defiance.

            Peter raised a skeptical brow.

            Stiles rolled his eyes. “Fine. I have hormones, just because _they_ liked it doesn’t mean that _I_ did.”

            A small, satisfied smile flickered across Peter’s lips, but he only said, “Okay.”

            Stiles threw his hands in the air. “Okay? What does that even mean?”

            “It means we’re here,” Peter replied as he pulled into a parking space in the mall lot and turned off the car. He shot Stiles an irritating smile as he opened his door and slid out of his seat. The teen was left to glare impotently at the wolf and contemplate refusing to move from the car. Of course Peter didn’t give him a choice in the matter when he came around to Stiles’ door and held it open for him. Asshole.

            They walked into Macy’s and Peter shoved one of those small, department store carts at the teen. Huffing out his annoyance, Stiles trailed unhappily behind the wolf as they wandered through the racks of clothes. Peter paused every so often to pull something from a rack, look it over with a critical eye, and either put it back or place it in the cart. The whole thing was incredibly surreal – Stiles hadn’t really believed that Peter was taking him shopping, but here they were.

            As he watched the pile in the cart grow with a wary eye, Stiles questioned, “I thought you just owed me a shirt.”

            “What, you didn’t think I was serious about the wardrobe?” Peter shot back, not looking up from the pants he was currently eyeing.

            Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Peter chose that moment to glance back at him, and the teen’s mouth snapped shut in the face of the cool, intense gaze. He swallowed nervously and felt like a mouse being stared down by a hungry snake – completely mesmerized and terrified all at once. Then Peter smiled and allowed the spell to break. “Time to try some on. Come along, Stiles.”

            They made their way to the nearest fitting room, and for one heart-stopping moment Stiles thought that Peter was going to follow him into one of the stalls. But the man simply shoved a pile of clothes into his arms and pushed the teen through the nearest door. “Shirts first. And I expect to see each one,” he cheerfully ordered.

            Stiles stood unmoving for several seconds, staring down at the ball of colors and fabric and feeling completely lost. “Is this really necessary?” he finally asked, in a tone that sounded uncomfortably like a whine. However he might have pictured his next meeting with Peter, this certainly wasn’t it.

            “Do you need help in there, Stiles?” Peter purred from the other side of the door, sounding far too close for the teen’s comfort.

            “No!” Stiles yelped, hurriedly tossing the clothes onto the squat stool in the corner and struggling to yank his shirt over his head. “No,” he continued to babble. “I don’t want your help taking my clothes off… I mean trying them on. Yeah, definitely meant trying clothes on, not taking off. Which I don’t want you to do. Either of those things.” Stiles bit his lip before he said something even worse and willfully ignored the chuckle he heard from the other side of the door as he irritably extracted a shirt from the pile. Oh yeah, this was a far worse nightmare than any of the dream scenarios his mind had come up with over the last few nights.

 

***

 

            Stiles was pretty sure that _days_ had passed by the time he was allowed to leave the fitting room. Every single piece of clothing had to be paraded in front of Peter and subjected to the man’s scrutiny. Aside from making Stiles feel like some sort of bizarre runway model, the whole experience was both nerve-wracking and incredibly tedious. For the most part, the endless repetition of put on clothes, show them to Peter, take off clothes was so mind-numbingly boring that Stiles actually found himself forgetting to be nervous around the wolf. It felt oddly … normal to be with the man in such a mundane setting, sniping back and forth with something like their usual banter. But every so often Stiles would step out of the stall and Peter’s eyes would slide over him with a slow, hungry intensity that would fluster the teen all over again. Once or twice Stiles even thought he caught a flash of electric blue over his shoulder when Peter pulled him in front of the large triple-panel mirror at the back of the dressing room. Coming to the end of the pile was nothing but a relief to the teenager, and he would have run from the fitting room if his pride hadn’t compelled him to a more sedate pace.

            “Finally,” Stiles sighed as he watched Peter leave more than half of the clothes on the restock rack.

            Peter turned back to him, a smile quirking his lips. “Oh, we’re not done yet, Stiles.”

            The teen’s mouth dropped open. “We’re not? We’ve been here _forever_.”

            “It’s been less than an hour, Stiles. And that was just the first round.”

            That was it. Pride be damned, it was time to run, but as he made the attempt…“N-no,” Stiles groaned as Peter caught him by the collar, and guided him back toward the many, _many_ racks of clothing. It was official, Stiles was in hell. Glumly, Stiles once again trailed behind the wolf as they started the process all over again.

            A few minutes later, when Peter apparently had trouble choosing between two different colored shirts, he dragged Stiles over to a mirror and stood behind him as he held each in front of the boy. The werewolf’s attention was entirely focused upon his self-appointed task and Stiles stared at the intent wolf behind him, realizing that he’d never felt as confused by the man as he did at that moment. “What is this?” he asked softly.

            Peter paused and met his gaze in the mirror. “Shopping, Stiles,” he answered lightly.

            “No, seriously. What _is_ this? Why are you doing this?” His twitchiness over the other man’s presence had finally reached its limit – he didn’t _care_ if Peter licked him, or if he liked it or not, right now Stiles just wanted to know what the hell was going on.

            Peter stared at him in the mirror for a few long moments. Stiles could feel his heartbeat gradually increasing as he stared back at the reflection. “ _This_ is shopping,” Peter finally replied quietly, twitching one of the shirts that he held. “And I’m doing it… because I like you, Stiles.” They were familiar words, but Stiles still had no idea what they meant. The werewolf stared at Stiles for a few more seconds, and the teen felt a strange warmth begin to pulse through his veins at the look in the man’s crystal eyes. Then a grin suddenly lit the wolf’s face. “Now stop asking silly questions and help me decide which looks better on you,” Peter ordered. “I’m leaning toward the red.”

            Stiles blinked, startled by the change. Well that cleared up _nothing_. He scowled at the wolf, but Peter just smirked and waved the shirts in his face. Stiles rolled his eyes and decided to play along, if only to get the insanity over with quicker. He looked at the shirt Peter favored and frowned. It was a deep, vibrant red that would be a stark contrast to his pale skin. “Does that really work … you know, with my skin tone? Isn’t it a bit much or something?”

            Abruptly Peter’s smile dropped away, and his whole countenance took on the same hunger Stiles had glimpsed in the dressing room. “No, Stiles,” he purred, his lips almost brushing the boy’s cheek as he captured Stiles’ gaze again in the reflection. “Skin like yours demands … intensity.”

            The teenager’s breath caught in his chest. He could feel the heat of Peter’s body against him where the werewolf stood at his back, almost but not quite touching. The man’s arms were almost cradling the boy as he held the shirts in front of him, and his breath was ghosting across his skin like a faint caress. For an impossibly long moment Stiles felt as if he was about to be swallowed into the blue depths of the eyes that refused to release his gaze.

            “What the hell is this?” a familiar voice demanded.

            “Oh thank god,” Stiles muttered in relief, snapping from his daze and quickly ducking around Peter’s arms. “Lydia! Hey!” he enthusiastically greeted the red-head who was glaring daggers at the werewolf behind him.

            The glare transferred to Stiles. “ _What_ are you doing?”

            “Um…” Suddenly Stiles felt an odd sense of guilt – as he’d been in the midst of some sort of sordid happening that he needed to hide. “Shopping?” he answered, and then since he couldn’t actually deny it, he added, “With Peter.” The teenager licked his lips nervously, and glanced back to see how the wolf was taking this interruption. In a second Stiles’ unease dissipated, replaced by irritation at the older man. The bastard actually looked ready to burst out in laughter.

            “ _Why_?” Lydia asked, looking suspiciously between the two of them.

            And even though that was the same question Stiles had been asking himself since Peter had first appeared outside the locker room, he told her, “He owes me a shirt,” as if it wasn’t the most ridiculous answer in the world. Meanwhile, he sent a death glare at the werewolf for not only putting him in this position, but having the nerve to think it was _funny_.

            “Really?” Now Lydia returned the brunt of her ire to the wolf.

            Beneath their combined glares, Peter attempted to school his features, although he wasn’t wholly successful in wiping all traces of mirth from his lips. “I may have caused some damage during that Halloween fiasco,” he elaborated.

            “Is that so?” Stiles shifted uncomfortably, getting the distinct impression from Lydia’s tone that she had guessed more about the events of Halloween than he would have liked. Lydia stared pointedly at the cart full of clothes. “That looks like more than a shirt.”

            Peter shrugged. “I may have also decided that Stiles needed to upgrade his wardrobe.” _He_ looked pointedly at Stiles’ current outfit. The teen in question grumbled. Sheesh, couldn’t a guy wear some crappy clothes after a long day and a hard practice?

            Lydia took in his less-than-stellar appearance and sniffed. “You might have a point. Stiles has needed to upgrade his wardrobe since the third grade.”

            “Hey! I’m standing right here!”

            A strange gleam suddenly lit Lydia’s eyes. “You should have called me,” she told them both primly. She held her hands out and with only the smallest of smirks, Peter handed over the shirts he had been holding. The girl looked at each critically, then at Stiles, before pronouncing, “Red,” and putting the garment in question into the cart. After shoving the other back at Peter, she then began to sort through the rest of the clothes in the cart.

            This was not happening. “Really?” Stiles asked, the unfortunate whine creeping back into his voice.

            Lydia ignored him, speaking to Peter instead. “I’ll need to see how these look on him before I can give the okay,” she instructed, her lips pursed as she critically surveyed their haul.

            “Fine by me,” Peter told her, his eyes dancing as he replaced the rejected shirt onto the rack.

            “I just tried them all on!” Stiles protested. They continued to ignore him.

            “What’s your opinion on these?” Peter asked holding up a pair of jeans.

            Lydia gave an evaluating glance and nodded. “Promising. Add it to the pile. Come on, Stiles.” She pushed the cart into Stiles' hands, then prodded him forward. Dazedly the boy complied.

            Hell. He was in hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Stiles. :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry ... When I said updates would be infrequent I really didn't mean months apart. Please enjoy this chapter and trust that the next one will be posted ... eventually.

            Lydia and Peter spent the next few hours dragging Stiles through the _entire_ men’s department, because of course the ordeal couldn’t possibly end with just shirts and pants. Oh no, if Stiles could wear it, they were going to make him shop for it. The two demons actually spent twenty minutes amicably bickering over socks. And by the time they walked away from the shoe section Stiles felt like some demented version of Cinderella. Between giving commands and shopping in general, Lydia was completely in her element. Peter on the other hand just appeared to be enjoying this attempt at driving Stiles out of his freaking mind. Neither seemed likely to end the torture any time soon. The teenager was pretty sure that they would be closing the store out – assuming he didn’t drop over from exhaustion first.          The restless, sleep-deprived nights of the last week, on top of today’s hard lacrosse practice, were finally catching up with Stiles. He was definitely dragging, which _had_ to be the reason he was letting these two treat him like some sort of dress-up doll. Well, that and the fact that they turned killer looks on him any time he suggested they cut the shopping expedition short. If he’d thought either Lydia or Peter was formidable on their own, combined they were an absolutely unstoppable force.

            But eventually there came a point where Stiles just had to put his foot down.

            “No! Absolutely not!” he snapped when he caught Lydia speculatively eyeing a display of boxer briefs. “I have let you drag me all over this store, but I’m drawing the line there!”

            Lydia had the grace to blush – not that she would ever actually admit to overstepping. She gave a sniff and turned away, muttering, “I’m just looking at something for Jackson,” before quickly disappearing around another display.

            Emboldened by this minor win, Stiles turned his glare toward Peter. The bastard werewolf was silently laughing at him again. “What about you?” he growled. A couple hours of watching Peter conspire with Lydia over _clothes_ had definitely gotten Stiles over his nervousness _and_ his attraction for the older man. “What are you going to pick out for me next, huh? Why stop with clothes? Maybe a new shampoo, or deodorant? Ooh, I know, new toothpaste!” Alright, so Stiles was perhaps feeling a little bitter over Lydia and Peter’s apparent desire to completely redesign him.

            Peter grinned and shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of changing any of those, Stiles. Your scent is part of who you are.” He amusedly began to flick through a rack of boxers, purposely ignoring Stiles’ glare.

            The teen snorted. “But not my clothes?” he questioned, irritated by the man’s disregard.

            Peter stilled, his head cocked thoughtfully. Suddenly his gaze flickered to Stiles. The teen’s breath caught in his throat. “Clothes are … _removable_ , Stiles,” Peter all but purred, contemplatively fingering a pair of the boxers he had been examining.

            Yeah, he’d totally been wrong about being over his nervousness and attraction, Stiles thought as he stared into the wolf’s pale eyes. The teen swallowed hard.   Unfortunately, since he was also having a momentary breathing problem, this action caused him to choke and sent him into a coughing fit which thankfully tore his eyes loose from Peter’s intense gaze.

            The werewolf sighed and rolled his eyes. He stepped away from the display and came to Stiles’ side. “Stop that,” he told the boy.

            “Stop … what?” Stiles gasped. “If you mean choking…I’ll happily do that.”

            Peter waited until the teen had regained his breath then tapped him lightly on the forehead, startling Stiles. “Stop over-thinking,” he told the boy gently.

            “Umm.” Stiles didn’t quite know what to do with that. There was no snark in the man’s countenance. In fact, assuming Stiles wasn’t actually going crazy, he thought he almost detected mild _sympathy_ in Peter’s expression.

            Fortunately, the teen didn’t have to come up with a more articulate response, because Lydia returned at that moment. Her sudden reappearance startled Stiles enough to make him jump, and again he felt weirdly guilty, as if he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. The girl looked between the boy and the wolf for a moment, taking in their interrupted expressions. Then her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips at Peter. The man raised his hands in surrender and stepped back from Stiles, his usual smirk again playing on his lips.

            “Anyway,” Lydia said as if resuming an interrupted conversation while she watched the wolf retreat. “I think we’re done here.”

            “Finally,” Stiles groaned in relief. He was pretty sure that he’d just missed some sort of important silent confrontation between Peter and Lydia, but he couldn’t care less if it meant he could finally _leave_ the damn store. The night’s events had forever ruined the mall for him. “Alright, so pick out an outfit,” he cheerfully gestured to the cart full of clothes and miscellaneous items that the two had bullied him into gathering.

            Lydia raised an imperious brow. “What?”

            “Well, I can’t afford all that,” Stiles pointed out reasonably. “I’ll be lucky to afford one outfit. So have at it. I don’t think they’re going to be open much longer.”

            Both Lydia and Peter gazed at Stiles for a moment as if he were speaking gibberish. Then the two shared a look that was half long-suffering exasperation, half smug amusement. Stiles realized with a sinking feeling that he was going to need to learn to translate these silent conversations between the two, because Peter then reached into the cart and swept up half of the clothes while Lydia casually pushed Stiles from his place behind the cart and began to wheel the remaining haul toward one of the check-out registers.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa! What do you think you’re doing?” Stiles asked in a slight panic, hurrying to get between them and the register.

            “We did not just spend all of that time and effort so that we could leave the fruits of our labor behind, Stiles. We’re buying the clothes.” Peter not-too-gently bumped Stiles out of the way with his hip.

            “No, you’re not,” Stiles declared, grabbing hold of the end of the cart and attempting to halt its forward motion. If he couldn’t stop the werewolf maybe he’d have better luck with Lydia. “I don’t have the money, and there is no way I’m letting you two buy all this for me.”

            “Tch, men and their pride,” Lydia huffed, pushing back against Stiles with a surprising amount of strength. “It’s alright for you to buy a million and one things for _my_ birthday, but God forbid I get you a few outfits. If it’s such a big deal, you can pay us back later.”

            “Okay first, I returned most of the stuff I bought you. Second this is way more than a ‘few’ outfits. And third, I’ll be paying you back until I’m 80!” the teen yelped, desperately trying to hold his ground. “No, it’s not happening!”

            Peter sighed, turned back, and abruptly yanked Stiles away from the cart by the collar. As the teenager spluttered in outrage, Peter hauled him close and leaned in until they were only inches apart. Stiles stilled and stared at the man with wide eyes. “Stiles,” Peter began in the calmest, deadliest tone imaginable. “We’re buying the clothes. You’re taking the clothes home. You can decide whether or not you want to pay us back, by whatever means you choose,” there was the slightest tilt to Peter’s lips at the suggestion, “but you’re keeping them. Because we’re keeping the receipts. And if I have to, I will rip off every single tag to ensure that you do keep the clothes. If I have to do that, I won’t be happy. And then, _you_ won’t be happy. Are we clear, Stiles?”

            Stiles’ mouth hung open in disbelief. _How_ did he get into these situations? Finally the only thing he could come up with was, “I hate you … so much.”

            Peter gave a crooked smile, his eyes again laughing. “Maybe, but at least you’ll be well dressed while doing it.”

 

***

 

            Stiles stumbled through his front door, banging it loudly against the wall as he struggled to juggle a million-and-one unwieldy bags. Irritably the teen muttered out his frustrations around the handles of the bags he held clenched between his teeth – shoving a few in his mouth had been the only way he could get the door open without losing the whole load. And no, he wasn’t going to make two trips. As far as he was concerned this day couldn’t end soon enough.

            He was done. Absolutely done. Done with high school princesses. Done with snarky psychopathic werewolves. Done with malls and clothes in general. Yeah, that was it; he was definitely done with clothes. He was going to go find a nudist colony somewhere far away from freaky Beacon Hills and far from the stupid werewolf who was solely responsible for ruining his life. Of course, knowing Stiles’ luck, Peter would follow him and then he’d be stuck in a _nudist_ colony with the perverted Peter Hale. Stiles almost dropped half his bags again at the mental image that thought produced. And God, what was wrong with his brain? That was the second time he’d imagined Peter naked today!

            “Is there something you wanted to tell me, Stiles?” his dad’s voice startled the teenager, sending the bags in his mouth sliding to the floor and forcing Stiles to scrabble once again to grab hold of them

            “W-what?” Stiles asked in panicked distraction, using every available limb to heft the bags into a more stable position as he wondered _how_ his dad could have read his perverted mind. And what was his dad even doing here? Shouldn’t he be on the late shift? No. Wait. That was tomorrow night. Which meant that Stiles could have just rung the door bell instead of struggling to get his key in the lock. Could this day get any more frustrating?

            His dad was standing at the entrance to their living room, obviously having come to see what all the commotion of Stiles’ entrance was about. He wore an expression that was half-amused and half-perplexed – a common sentiment when faced with his son’s antics. “Like maybe how you robbed a bank and went on a shopping spree,” his dad suggested. “As sheriff, I’d like to know ahead of time if I’ll be arresting my son for a felony.”

            Ah, not reading his mind then. “Pe-People…” Stiles was so frazzled that he actually almost told his dad that _Peter_ had abducted him. He shuddered to think how that particular conversation would have gone. Instead he hurried to cover his slip. “…specifically Lydia-people, ambushed me after school and decided that I needed a new wardrobe. She wasn’t taking no for an answer, and she also wasn’t taking my zero-net-worth as a valid excuse, so…” He held up the bags to demonstrate. “Now I’m going to be indebted to her for eternity. Unless you want to give me an advance on my college funds. Ooh, or maybe the precinct’s hiring? I could do nights. Weekends. Every summer for the next 90 years.”

            His dad’s lips twitched but the man valiantly tried to look sympathetic as he asked, “Do you want me to talk to her? Or maybe her parents?”

            Stiles sighed. “Nah. I’ll figure it out.” Girding himself for the journey, the teen began to make his stumbling way toward the stairs.

            As Stiles passed, his dad peered curiously at the bags. “What did she get you?” he asked snagging one as it slid from his son’s grip. “Hmm,” he said pulling out a shirt and eyeing it approvingly. “This looks nice. Maybe you could try a few things on so I can see how they look?”

            “Oh my god! Nooo!” Stiles groaned, snatching the bag back. He stoutly refused to acknowledge his dad’s laughter as he hauled the cursed load up the stairs.

            The stumbling journey to his room gave Stiles yet another chance to play back the bizarre evening in his mind. He’d already spent the entire ride back to his waiting Jeep in a state of dazed contemplation, only vaguely answering Lydia’s probing questions as he’d tried to work out the events of the last few hours. Honestly even after all that thought he was still confused as hell. Just what the heck had Peter been playing at with the sudden shopping trip? Had his goal really been to force a new wardrobe on Stiles or had there been some further, more nefarious plan that Lydia had interrupted? And if the latter was true, why had the werewolf simply relinquished Stiles to Lydia when she’d insisted on driving him back to his car at the end of the expedition? The last glimpse Stiles had caught of Peter’s expression as they’d pulled away was _still_ haunting the teen – that now-familiar look of intensity in the man’s eyes and a strange little smile hovering at the edge of his lips. Stiles shivered slightly at the memory, then quickly shook his head. No, enough thinking about the creeper for one day. Knowing the pattern of the last few nights, his dreams would probably offer more than enough of the man.

            Reaching his room, Stiles shoved some of the bags into his mouth again, leaned his shoulder against the door to maintain his balance, and scrabbled awkwardly at the knob for a few moments before it finally gave. With a sigh muffled by bags, Stiles pushed his shoulder against the door and backed into the room.

            When he turned, a startled cry forced itself from his lips, sending half the bags tumbling to the ground. “Ahhh!”

            “Stiles?!” his dad’s voice called up in concern.

            Stiles quickly dumped the remaining bags and turned back to the door to shout a hurriedly babbled reply. “I’m okay! Everything’s okay. I just dropped some of the bags. Nothing to worry about. No reason to come upstairs.” Then he swiftly slammed the door shut and turned back to face the interior of the room. “What the hell are you doing in my room?” he hissed at the werewolf standing next to his open closet.

            “Sorting,” Peter answered calmly, surveying the t-shirt that he held. One unimpressed eyebrow rose as the man read the “I support single mothers” slogan and took in the silhouetted figure gracing the shirt. With a slight shake of his head he dropped the garment into a pile of clothes at his feet.

            Stiles was freaking out. Peter Hale was in his room! _His. Room._ “My dad is downstairs!” This was only one of the _many_ concerns flooding Stiles’ brain at the moment, and while perhaps not the most important, it was probably the most immediate.

            “And if you don’t make too much noise, he’ll probably stay there,” Peter told him matter-of-factly, pulling another piece of clothing from an open drawer in Stiles’ dresser.

            “Oh god,” Stiles fisted his hands in his hair in dismay. “ _Why_ are you in my room? This… is beyond creepy.” That’s it – he’d had enough! Stiles had installed a mountain ash circle into the baseboard around his room over his long, isolated summer – figuring that it might come in handy as a safe room should his house ever come under supernatural attack. But from now on he was locking the circle at every opportunity. There would be no more random werewolf visits in his room!

            Stiles’ scattered thoughts finally absorbed the wolf’s calm motions. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked waving his hands at the man. _Why_ was Peter Hale going through his closet and dresser?!

            “I told you…,” Peter spoke as if _he_ was the one who should be exasperated with this conversation, “… sorting.” He dropped another shirt onto the pile.

            “What does that-” Stiles momentarily forgot himself and the first few words came out as a shout. After freezing for a few seconds to make sure that there was no movement from his dad, the teen tried again. “What does that even mean?!” he whisper-shouted.

            “It means that I didn’t go to all the trouble of helping you choose a new wardrobe only to have you continue to wear the same crap.” Peter dropped the latest garment into yet another stack of clothes. Stiles noticed now that there were actually three piles. The ones immediately behind Peter and to the right were both fairly large. The one to the left was quite small in comparison. “So Stiles,” Peter captured his gaze and pointed to the pile to the right, “these you will burn.” He pointed to the pile next to him. “These you will never wear in my presence again.” Finally he pointed to the smallest of the piles. “And these … are passable.” The last words were only uttered grudgingly.

            Stiles’ mouth was open in disbelief by the time the man finished speaking. “Are you fucking serious?” He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it.

            Peter’s head tilted and a dark little smile curled his lips. “Yes,” he answered simply.

            Stiles stared for another second or two before throwing his hands into the air and stalking across the room. The teen dropped down to sit for a moment on the edge of his bed before abruptly flopping back and flinging his arms over his head. “Why is this my life?” he groaned

            Peter turned back to his work. “At the moment? Because you’ve been avoiding me for the last week and a half.”

            Stiles immediately felt his stomach flutter at the implication of the words, but he decided to play dumb. He propped himself up on his elbows and glared at the wolf’s back. “Please tell me you didn’t just drag me through that torture because I’ve been _ignoring_ you.” There, he’d turned it back on Peter.

            The man stopped dead in the midst of reaching again into the closet. He turned and walked calmly over to Stiles’ side, his face an expressionless mask. The butterflies in Stiles’ stomach got worse as the wolf loomed over him. Peter looked down at the teen coolly for a second before he abruptly reached out and smacked Stiles upside the head. “Ow,” Stiles yelped indignantly, raising a hand to rub at the stinging spot.

            “No, Stiles,” Peter drawled, walking back to resume his task. “I just dragged you through all of that because you’ve been _avoiding_ me. Do you understand the difference?” The wolf looked over his shoulder at the teenager. Unfortunately, Stiles did understand, and he could feel his face heating up as he studiously avoided meeting the man’s knowing gaze. Satisfied by the teen’s expression, Peter continued, “Stiles, in alpha form I chased you through a deserted school in the middle of the night. Not long after that, I assaulted you in a parking garage within an hour of mauling your friend in front of you. And a week and a half ago I came at you, half out of my mind and ready to rip you apart.”

            “I’m confused,” Stiles interrupted. “These are reasons I _shouldn’t_ avoid you?”

            Peter’s eyes narrowed in a look that made Stiles snap his mouth shut. The man continued speaking as if Stiles had never said a word. “And yet, after each of those incidents, horrible as I’m sure they were, you’ve barely blinked before you bounced right back. … But I give you one little lick and suddenly you’re terrified of me?” Peter shook his head and the grimace he wore was the one he usually reserved for people whose intelligence he questioned.

            Stiles shifted awkwardly. “Okay, when you put it that way it sounds stupid.” And horribly like the man had a valid point. Not that Stiles was going to admit that.

            “It is stupid,” Peter told him bluntly. “You’re being an idiot by avoiding me, Stiles. We’ve been alone together before. I’ve never tried to jump you and have my wicked way with you, have I?”

            “You’ve also never licked me before, so apparently there’s a first time for everything,” Stiles pointed out, shooting a glare at the wolf. “And, you know, I’m not _terrified_ of you,” he added. When Peter’s expression turned skeptical the teen felt irritation worm its way through the mild terror that, yes, he _was_ feeling in the werewolf’s presence. “I’m confused!” he told the man emphatically, sitting up again on the bed. “I mean, what the hell do you _want_ from me?” God damn it, what right did the psychopath have to give him grief about his actions when _he_ was the one who kept screwing with Stiles and causing all the confusion in the first place?

            Peter’s pale eyes snapped to the teen. “What do _you_ want, Stiles?” His gaze was dead serious, challenging Stiles to give an honest answer.

            The irritation was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving only the unease and confusion. Stiles crossed his arms, and nope, that wasn’t an unconsciously self-protective gesture at all. “No fair,” he muttered, “I asked first.” Peter’s lips quirked into a smile at the words, softening the intensity of his gaze and allowing some of the tension to leave their conversation. Stiles was grateful for the motion, but he knew the wolf still expected a response. The teen sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I want to pretend Halloween never happened?” he offered. Things had been simpler before Halloween. Before Peter had licked him. Before Stiles had really been confronted with the intensity of his attraction toward the man and his uncertainty of what that meant for their future interactions.

            The smile was still there, and now there was almost kindness in the werewolf’s eyes as he issued his goading response. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

            Stiles stared at the wolf, at a loss for an answer. After several moments of waiting expectantly, head tilted and brows raised politely, Peter gave a little hum and turned back to his work in the closet.

            Stiles dropped back onto his elbows, his mind frantically continuing to toil over the question as he watched the man at his task. What _did_ he want? The teen’s eyes traced the line of Peter’s body and tracked the muscles shifting beneath his clothing. How the hell was he supposed to make a decision when presented with _that_? After all, he was a hormonal teenage boy. And Peter didn’t help – not with the way he acted with Stiles. Constantly hitting on the teen wasn’t even the worst of it! No, it was the way he traded snarky quips with Stiles, the way he expected the teenager to be clever, the way he treated him like someone worth his interest. Stiles wasn’t used to that attention, and he had to admit – Danny was right – the attraction felt good. He also had to admit that it was a bit frightening, especially considering its source.

            Yeah, Peter was hot, but he was also homicidal. He was manipulative and devious, and although Stiles was starting to trust the man far more than he probably should, he still didn’t quite trust Peter enough to let him get _that_ close. Of course Stiles was wavering on that front too. Halloween and the whole Vulcan mind meld had really screwed him up. He’d felt far more of Peter than he thought the man had intended, and he was pretty sure that he’d experienced a memory that would get him eviscerated if Peter ever realized he’d seen it – all of which made him see the werewolf in a new light. It wasn’t that he approved of everything Peter had done since the fire, it was simply that he could understand _why_ he’d done it … assuming the emotions he’d felt in the memory were real. And that was the problem of Peter in a nutshell – Stiles just couldn’t quite trust what he saw. He couldn’t trust the man’s motives.

            But damn, he _was_ hot. Stiles internally sighed as the wolf turned and the teen was presented with his profile. As he studied the man’s features he found his gaze slowly following the strong line of Peter’s jaw and then suddenly focusing in on the wolf’s lips. And just like on Halloween he was abruptly imagining what it would be like to be kissed by those lips – how demanding they might be, how the scrape of the wolf’s beard might feel on his cheek, how his hands might feel as they pulled him closer. And hell, those thoughts were stirring the same desire in him that the dreams of the last week and a half had offered!

            As he frantically tried to push the heated thoughts away, Stiles thought he saw Peter shoot him a swift glance, a smirk again playing on the man’s lips, and he wondered if Peter could smell the sudden arousal on him or if the man could just read minds. No. This had to stop. He absolutely could not allow this to continue. Stiles _needed_ to keep the wolf at a distance. Needed to forget everything that he’d seen and felt on Halloween. Needed to pretend that Peter was nothing more than Derek’s creepy, psychopathic uncle. And if he managed to do that maybe he could convince himself that he didn’t really feel any attraction for the man, physical or otherwise. Yeah, that was going to work. Sadly, he could hear the sarcasm in his own thoughts.

            Determined to do _something_ , Stiles finally declared, “Let’s just agree to forget about the whole claws in the neck and minds sharing wildly inappropriate things that we should never speak of.” Okay he hadn’t quite meant to say all that. Stiles blushed as he suddenly remembered his own embarrassingly intense reaction to Peter while they had been connected. “Never ever,” he emphasized, seriously hoping that none of the emotions he had felt that night had bled through to the wolf. “ _And_ the cornering me in Lydia’s kitchen and _licking_ me.” Very important – they shouldn’t forget to forget _that_.

            Stiles wondered if Peter had actually heard his words, since at first the man’s only response was to slowly finish examining the shirt he held before letting it drop carelessly onto the stack at his feet. But then the wolf finally turned toward the teenager on the bed, and his expression was thoughtful and his eyes unreadable. “If you’d like, Stiles,” he replied softly. He moved toward the bed then, his steps unhurried, almost lazy. Stiles’ breath caught. The werewolf’s motion seemed far too much like a stalk to the nervous teen.

            “But,” Peter continued as he crossed the short distance, “I should warn you –,” he paused as he came to a stop before Stiles. The man stared down at the sprawled boy for a moment as if trying to decipher some puzzle, before he slid his leg forward and nudged it between Stiles’ bent knees. The teen watched the man’s actions in a sort of fascinated awe. “Sometimes…,” Peter began again gently. The man used his leg to guide the teen’s knees to either side, then stepped forward to press against the bed in the space between them. Stiles drew in a deep breath through his nose as he suddenly found his legs spread and pretty much straddling the wolf. Peter’s body was only kept from pressing flush against his own by the edge of the bed.

            “…to a predator…,” Peter’s soft words made Stiles’ eyes jerk from the man’s legs to his face. Peter’s gaze was dark, intense, but as enigmatic as ever. He bent slowly forward, resting a hand on the bed beside Stiles’ head to support his weight. As if trying to retreat from the nearing wolf, Stiles’ elbows collapsed beneath him so that the teen found himself lying flat on his back.

            “… the more you run…” Peter placed his remaining hand on the other side of Stiles and leaned slowly forward. Stiles knew that his eyes must be huge as he stared at the descending man, and he could feel his heart drumming wildly in his chest. He knew too that he should be making some move to stop Peter, doing or saying something to halt the man who was practically lying on top of him. But some horrible combination of the terror he had denied and the desire he wished he could ignore was keeping him a frozen observer of the werewolf’s advance.

            Peter stopped a few inches above Stiles, his head moving with his eyes as he surveyed the boy. He might have been scenting the teen too, taking in the bizarre mix of emotions that had immobilized the youth. He stilled abruptly, head tilted, gaze locking with Stiles’. His eyes flared a sudden wolf blue, the electric color startling in its intensity. “…the more you look like prey,” he finally murmured.

            Stiles stared at the man above him, his breath shuddering from his body, his hands twisted in his sheets at his side. What was he supposed to do?

            He was hyper-aware of the werewolf. He could feel the tickle of Peter’s breath ghosting across his cheek. Could feel the heat of the man radiating from the body that was so very close to his own. Felt the place where Peter’s legs were rubbing against his in a way that sent goose bumps all over his skin. He wanted Peter closer and he wanted him a million miles away all at the same time.

            He so wasn’t ready for this. God, yes he wanted sex. He wanted it desperately like any other teenager. But his wants were a teenager’s wants, his imagined first time a teenager’s vision. The idea of sex had always been like a dream to him, fuzzy and soft and indistinct. But Peter was real. Peter was no teenager – he was a man, experienced and hard. And Peter was a killer, dangerous and cruel. Everything about him promised the best and the worst and Stiles didn’t know which frightened him more.

            He opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say, and feeling like he maybe wanted to cry. But he stilled before words ever reached his lips. Because he saw it then. Or maybe Peter let him see it – let him see the spark glinting in the wolf’s eyes, the slightest curl lurking at the edge of the man’s lips. Stiles blinked, not quite believing what he saw. The teenager’s mouth began to twist. And then suddenly he was giggling, his abrupt humor shaking his whole body.

            “You asshole!” Stiles gasped around his laughter.

            “Hmm,” Peter hummed, now releasing the hidden smile so that it curved across his entire face, smug and playful and comfortingly familiar. Usually Stiles hated that smile, but right now it was the best thing he’d ever seen.

            “What happened to not ‘jumping me and having your wicked way’?” Stiles asked, trying to school his features into something serious and failing miserably.

            “First time for everything,” Peter mockingly parroted back.

            “You are _such_ an asshole.” He shoved at the man’s shoulder, and Peter obligingly raised himself away from Stiles, though he didn’t yet step back from the bed. Stiles didn’t mind – he knew what was happening now, and he’d never felt more at ease with the man. “I can’t believe you did that – and all of _this_ ,” the wild gestures of Stiles’ hands indicated the bags and the piles of clothing, “just because I was … what? … Freaking out?”

            Peter’s head tilted and he raised a sardonic brow. “I told you, Stiles, you were over-thinking. And you’re far less interesting when you’re being foolish. I was simply … reinstating the status quo. I do hate to be bored.” He stepped back finally and offered a hand to the teenager.

            Without the slightest hesitation, Stiles took the hand and let Peter pull him to his feet. The wolf gave him one more smirk than moved toward Stiles’ desk chair to reclaim the jacket he must have tossed there on his arrival. Stiles watched his movements thoughtfully.

            It was so weird – when he’d seen that hint of mischief lurking in Peter’s expression, everything had just suddenly clicked into place. He’d recognized the whole evening for what it was – a game, a tease, a goad to push Stiles just that bit further into discomfort until he came back out the other side and found his equilibrium again. And just like that his nervousness was gone. He thought about what Danny had said about power in a relationship and realized that he wasn’t as powerless as he’d thought against Peter. Yes, the wolf was playing a game, and no, Stiles might not know the purpose of the game – the whys of Peter’s actions – but he certainly knew the rules.

            If Peter had wanted to force Stiles into anything, he would have done it long ago, and the teen was under no illusion that the stronger werewolf would have had any problem doing so. But that clearly wasn’t what the man wanted from Stiles. He’d always offered the teenager a choice, had always wanted Stiles to willingly accept what was offered – and that was _Stiles’_ power.

With that realization, suddenly the worry he’d felt about his attraction for Peter seemed silly. He recognized now that _if_ anything were to come from that attraction, it would be _his_ choice. Peter might continue to tease and push and generally be a poster child for sexual harassment, but Stiles was going to be the deciding factor for whether or not their weird relationship went any further than that, and right now he was content to keep things as they were … to maintain the ‘status quo’ as Peter had said. At least until he figured out just what it was he wanted from Peter and what the man’s intentions for him were. Tonight had been Peter’s way of giving Stiles an out – of making him confront his fears and showing him that they weren’t the insurmountable problems he had thought they were.

            Feeling relaxed for the first time in a week and a half, Stiles allowed his eyes to drift away from the werewolf. Slowly a frown formed on the teen’s face as he took in the chaos that was his room.

            “Hey,” Stiles said suddenly, “now that you’ve made your point, does that mean we can take all of this back?” he gestured again at the bags littering his floor.

            Peter turned narrowed eyes on the teenager. “No,” he replied in his “make-me-repeat-it-and-I’ll-murder-you” voice.

            “Okaaay,” Stiles muttered, wisely not meeting the man’s gaze. “Then how much do I owe you?” He regretted the question as soon as it was out of his mouth.

            Peter smirked and adjusted the collar of his jacket. “I’m sure you’ll think of an appropriate means of repayment,” he purred.

            Stiles flipped him off, still avoiding his eyes. He might have reached a level of inner peace with _his_ attraction for Peter, but that didn’t mean that the man’s innuendos didn’t make him uncomfortable. The teenager continued to examine his decimated room, and his annoyed expression abruptly turned into an outright glare. “That’s most of my flannel shirts,” he growled pointing at one of Peter’s discard piles.

            The wolf glanced at the clothing in question. “Yes,” he answered simply.

            “I _like_ my flannel shirts!”

            Peter raised a brow as he regarded the shirts, then gave a dismissive half-shrug. “They’re not in the burn pile, are they?”

            Stiles was spluttering in outrage at the insult to his flannel when Peter captured his gaze, making the words die on the teen’s lips.

            “I think we’re done here, Stiles.” And Peter was right back to menacing, sexy creeper again, his pale eyes inscrutable and laughing all at the same time.

            The butterflies threatened to start fluttering again in Stiles’ stomach. “So … we just continue on, right? Like nothing’s changed?” He ran a nervous hand through his hair again.

            Peter’s eyes tracked the motion of the teenager’s hand with a predatory interest as the wolf casually shrugged in reply. “Nothing _has_ changed.”

            “Riiight.” Easy for him to say. The werewolf hadn’t just gone through the mental acrobatics that Stiles had suffered for the last week. “So no more licking,” Stiles demanded. He felt pleased at the reasonable request. One less thing to plague him as he unraveled his feelings for the werewolf.

            A lazy smile danced on Peter’s lips. “Oh, I make no promises.” The tone of voice he used did bad things to Stiles’ brain. He stepped close to the teenager, and his words became deeper, more dangerous. Stiles held very still, suddenly afraid to breathe. “Don’t avoid me again, Stiles,” Peter told him very seriously. “I’d rather not have to organize another field trip.” His voice was low and unnerving, but by the time the wolf finished speaking, his eyes were sparkling again with humor.

            _Definitely_ an asshole, Stiles decided as his body relaxed again. “God, please, no,” he groaned.

            Peter chuckled and stepped away, moving toward the window. “Goodnight, Stiles,” he called over his shoulder. He slid onto the window sill, swinging one leg into the night, then paused to look thoughtfully around the room one last time. “Maybe I’ll drop in for a visit again,” he murmured.

            Stiles’ eyes widened. “Please, don’t,” he said quickly. He so did not need Peter Hale showing up unexpectedly in his room. “Especially when my dad’s here.” The man smirked, and it took a second for Stiles to realize that he’d just implied that it would be better for Peter to appear in his room when his dad wasn’t around. “No, wait-!” But Peter was already through the window, disappearing into the night’s shadows. “Crap,” the teen muttered. He looked around his upended room again. “Double crap,” he added and collapsed tiredly onto his bed.

            He was too exhausted from his roller coaster emotions and the long day to deal with all the clothes right now. They’d just have to sit there until morning. He still couldn’t believe that Peter had emptied his closet and all of his drawers. Wait…Peter had emptied _all_ of his drawers.

            Stiles sat up swiftly, and almost fell from the bed as he flailed wildly, trying to get to his feet. He rushed to his dresser and pulled open his sock drawer. It was completely empty. _Shitshitshit_ , his mind repeated as he swung his gaze wildly around the room. Yes, the drawer held his socks. It also held his … adult collection of visual stimulation. Aka, his porn collection. And yes, Stiles knew it was a giant cliché to hide it in his sock drawer and that his dad would find it in two seconds if he decided to snoop, but there was a fair amount of trust between the Stilinski men, secrets of supernatural beings aside, and it had never really been an issue until a certain infuriating werewolf had decided to ransack his room. Peter must have found the eclectic collection, but what had he done with it?

            A glimpse of yellow on his desk caught Stiles’ eye and he stepped closer to get a better look. Slowly a scowl formed on his face. There was his collection spread out across the desk with a post-it note commentary scattered on every item. When the hell had the bastard had _time_ to do this?

            As if compelled to look, Stiles reached for the nearest object. It was an old, well-worn catalog for adult videos. It had been the first piece of his collection, obtained in the 7th grade when he’d traded Greenberg two of his rarest Pokémon cards for the old catalog. True, it wasn’t really up to the standard of some of his later pieces, but to the 12 year old Stiles it had been a pure revelation. The pages of half-naked and scantily clad women were the best trade he’d ever made, and the catalog still held a fond place in his fantasies.

            There was only one brief note stuck to the tattered cover - _You can do better_. Stiles’ eyes narrowed in annoyance. Who the hell was the creeper to judge his … interests? Irritably, the teen snatched up the next item.

            Stiles stilled when he saw the book he had picked up – it was a volume of yaoi. The note on the cover of this book read, _I’ve marked my favorite parts_ , and there were several yellow pieces of paper sticking out of the pages. Again feeling compelled, although he knew he would probably regret it, Stiles flipped to one of the marked pages.

            He glanced at the drawings for only a second before slamming the book shut and dropping it to the desk. He could feel his face burning and the butterflies had definitely started up again in his stomach. Who was he kidding? Peter so definitely had all the power here! The teenager was never going to be able to look at that book again without thinking about the man. And yeah, ok, that was one of his favorite parts too … which so didn’t help. Stiles stumbled back to his bed and flopped face first onto the mattress. He might as well accept it, he was completely screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww look, Peter saw Stiles was having a crisis and he decided to offer a distraction and chance to work through the problem. Isn't that sweet? ... wait, that doesn't sound like Peter. *cue porn commentary* Ah, there we go. Peter might not want to force Stiles into anything or frighten him away, but he's sure as heck going to troll the hell out of Stiles at every opportunity. :D


End file.
